


Couch Potatoes 8: Lance and JC

by waxjism



Series: Couch Potatoes [8]
Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-03-15
Updated: 2001-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:13:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waxjism/pseuds/waxjism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i>empty, flashlight, washcloth, pigtail</i><br/>words by emmy & jodi</p>
    </blockquote>





	Couch Potatoes 8: Lance and JC

**Author's Note:**

> _empty, flashlight, washcloth, pigtail_  
> words by emmy &amp; jodi

JC was the worst kind of drunk. The worst kind of drunk is the kind who becomes kind of a slut under the influence, but still can't laugh it off the next day, or take it as what it is - drunken foolishness. This wasn't something Lance didn't know, but somehow, he managed to forget it by the time JC leaned towards him and half-kissed, half-licked the side of his face.

They were sitting on Chris' back porch, in the couch that sagged and smelled a little like a dog that's taken a bath in a stagnant pond. The night was warm with just the barest threat of rain.

"Hey-- hey," he said, only nominally surprised, and instead of pushing JC away like he should, he leaned in and turned his head and opened his mouth. JC giggled and grabbed his head and kissed him clumsily.

"Lance, Lance, Lance," he muttered, and Lance kissed him back and it was hot. JC was hot, and Lance remembered a time when he'd been in love with JC. A while ago, before it all settled down into comfortable friendship, the way you got used to a pair of really expensive shoes and they became every-day footwear, still appreciated because they were solid and comfortable and looked good, but not extraordinary.

JC nipped at his lower lip and he forgot about his shoe metaphor, which had kind of gone overboard, anyway.

He'd thought a lot about sleeping with JC. Back when he was awkwardly trying to settle into the group and JC was a mysterious mix of grace and goofiness and passion, and Lance wasn't sure where he stood with him. He'd snuck into the bathroom in the German hotel rooms he shared with Justin and jerked off as quietly as he could and in the mornings he couldn't meet JC's eyes and blushed so hard he thought he might pop a vessel in his face. He got over that; his awkward phase passed and he could accept that he had a crush on his bandmate and that it wasn't going anywhere.

Except now, years later, it did, and JC's hands were hot on his skin and JC's mouth was wet and it was a lot like Lance had imagined back then. Maybe that was what made him forget himself and just go along with it.

The couch groaned under them when JC moved, slid into Lance's lap with that eerie grace he sometimes showed. Lance felt his smile on his mouth, and he knew what it looked like: happy and a little dazed - JC's merry drunk smile.

He thought, oops, bad idea, and ignored himself.

"You're...whoah," JC said and tugged impatiently at his t-shirt. "Lance, you're totally...totally. I want--" Lance leaned back, a little dizzy, a little breathless, and pulled off his shirt. JC grinned at him and stroked his chest, bent down and licked his throat, his collarbone. He was rocking a little in Lance's lap, tidy, tiny thrusts just in the right place. JC was very good at this. Lance wasn't surprised.

Around the time JC slid down off his lap and knelt on the creaking floorboards of the porch, Lance had a moment of clarity - one of those brief flashes of oh, FUCK, what is going on? He bit his lip and pushed at JC's shoulders, mumbled, "hey, no, wait--"

JC looked up at him with eyes that had turned black and glittering in the scattered light from the windows. He wasn't smiling now; not really, but the corners of his mouth were curled up like they always were, and he looked otherworldly and magical and his skin had a mellow, warm glow that made Lance want to touch his face just to see if it felt hot to the touch.

When JC opened his fly with nimble fingers, he didn't protest. When JC bent down and licked his cock with no hesitation and evident pleasure, he couldn't look away.

He could hear life happening around him - a dog barking somewhere in the neighbourhood, a car backfiring, the leaves rustling in the breeze. Someone laughed out loud inside the house; probably Justin from the sound of it, and it reminded Lance that they weren't exactly behind locked doors here, that in fact, he was getting head on a back porch couch like some horny teenager just begging to get caught with his pants down. But Chris' garden was quiet and dark and empty, and the porch light wasn't on, and it felt private and secret.

JC's mouth slid over his cock expertly, and JC hummed around it, exquisitely and Lance felt his hips jerk involuntarily. JC's hands stroked his stomach and groin and down from there. Lance gasped and shivered, and thought fondly of the guys he'd seen sneaking out of JC's hotel rooms.

He looked up, looked around the porch, tried to see in the murky light. Chris kept it pretty empty, but there was a flashlight and an empty flowerpot on the railing, precariously balanced. Lance clawed at the rough fabric of the couch, determined to not just grab JC's hair and thrust into his hot, slick mouth. He blinked and noticed that Chris had nailed his black and white hair extensions up above the door like some kind of fucked up trophy. He laughed, surprised himself, and JC, too.

"What?" JC said. Lance felt robbed and left hanging, but he pointed and said,

"The pigtails, man," and JC looked and giggled, but he put his hand on Lance's cock while he did it, as if he wanted to make sure the service kept up the standard. Lance forgot about Chris' hair and clapped a hand over his own mouth to stop himself from groaning.

When JC replaced his hand with his mouth again, suddenly and quickly, Lance bit his tongue and came, almost unexpectedly.

He leaned back and closed his eyes and rode the wave. He felt JC move back, felt chilly air on his cock, felt sweat tickle his scalp.

He opened his eyes and JC was sitting next to him, smiling brightly, expectantly.

"Hey," he said. Lance tugged himself out of the post-coital haze and reached for him, pushed him down, kissed his swollen lips. He was starting to suspect that this was going to be really awkward in a while, that this was, indeed, a pretty stupid idea, but JC was still hot and eager and in a sexy place, and there was no point backing out now.

JC was in a very sexy place, and he whimpered when Lance stroked him through his pants and he groaned when Lance fumbled with the zipper, and he gasped and said, "Fuck," when Lance got his hand on his cock. Lance kissed him to shut him up, sucked on his tongue and kept up a rhythm with his hand and JC's hands scrabbled over his back and his hips lifted against Lance's hand.

JC tore his mouth away to gasp and when he came, he whispered, "I love you," into Lance's ear. Bullshit, Lance thought, even though it was probably true, just not quite appropriate for the situation. There were all kinds of love.

He didn't say anything, just kissed JC again and wiped his sticky hand on JC's jeans.

"I think I'm gonna go find a washcloth or something," he said softly.

JC smiled and said, "no, just stay." He was already looking sleepy; his eyelids were dropping and his body was relaxing, going limp against the couch. When Lance got up and looked down, JC looked a little like an abandoned ragdoll, with one arm hanging over the edge of the couch, and his long legs sticking out over the armrest. Lance bent down and zipped up his jeans. JC mumbled something incoherent. Lance rubbed his arms and picked up his t-shirt from the floor and put it on.

He thought about it for a second; what to do now? Then he lay down, uncomfortably, next to, almost on top of JC. He'd stay here just for a while. Make the most of it before JC came down from his sex and booze high and it was morning again.

JC shivered, and Lance put his arm around him. The couch wasn't big enough for two grown men, but he thought he might fall asleep here anyway. In the garden, a bird chirped.


End file.
